


The Sun Too Soon Lost His Light

by Queenie_Sorcha



Series: Dream Of Thee [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Crying, Established Relationship, Hurt Brian May, Hurt Roger Taylor (Queen), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Miscommunication, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Sort Of, fluff if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 22:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_Sorcha/pseuds/Queenie_Sorcha
Summary: On some days Brian was struggling to live,  on others, he couldn’t stay still for his life. He didn't know what to do, and he couldn't ask for help. Until, one day, it became too much.





	The Sun Too Soon Lost His Light

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm Sorcha. I'm new here, and this is my first fic about this pair -- my favourite one, by the way.  
> I have some disclaimers:  
> \- Brian doesn't go easy on himself, cue to a lot of harmful thoughts.  
> \- English isn't my first language so I apologize for any mistake (however some mistakes are purposeful)  
> \- Please, read with caution - I didn't put anything too... strong... but it could still be a trigger to some people.

On some days Brian was struggling to live, everything was hurting and he had no will to leave his bed; on others, he couldn’t stay still for his life, he bounced his legs and fiddled with his fingers while trying to breathe properly. His life was coming apart in front of his eyes and he could do nothing to stop it. How would he cope with the extremes? How would he turn down the voices inside his head telling him it all would be better if he just went  _off?_  

Today was one of the first days, and it all started slowly so he didn’t even think in staying home to prevent his friends from dealing with him — don’t get him wrong, he could be a bother, but he wasn’t selfish enough to let his moods interfere in their relationship — and wasting the time they had to play. He was tuning his guitar when the first wave of sadness spread out through his body, shaking the little peace he had found. The strings burnt his fingers and he felt dizzy, but he shook the feeling and tried to focus on his task.  _Just play the damn guitar._ He could do that. Brian tried really hard to hide behind a blank face; he wasn’t ready to let anyone figure out what was wrong — it was his burden to carry.  

Because of that, he kept his head down the whole time they were rehearsing. He kept quiet, and that was odd because he was the one telling the others what needed to be fixed. But when did he feel normal? Everything was odd. It only added up to his sour mood, because the confused glances he was receiving just made him feel more guilty — he wasn’t doing his job, he was being  _useless_ , a complete waste of time. Brian wished he could turn off his head while being in the studio, so he would just play the damn guitar and call it a day. He just needed to go home and sleep — and maybe never wake up.  

Then, sadness became something else, something he couldn’t quite describe, but it hurt. It hurt like hell, and when someone touched his arm, he felt like he was punched. His mind rang a warning bell, telling him everyone knew and he would be kicked out of the band because no one wants someone who can’t even control their own emotions. Brian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he just needed to calm the fuck down even though he wasn’t nervous. Everything felt so out of place and he felt like fainting. He needed to sit fast, or else he might crash on the floor and bleed through his head until his body is out of blood — and the devilish voice in his mind said that that was the better end for his miserable life.  

— Brian, are you feeling okay? It’s the second time you mess up. — Roger spoke in his nonchalant tone.  _Fuck_. He was angry with Brian and the studio argument would become another argument at home and  _fuck_ , who said they could manage to be boyfriends when they worked together? He wanted to run.  

— I-I'm... I’m just... I... — he forgot how to form sentences and choked on his words — sorry. — Brian kept his gaze down and tried to hide from them, but he only managed to look afraid of something.  

— Brian... — the hand on his arm grabbed him strong and he felt his bones crashing, one by one, and he gathered all the strength he didn't know he had to stop a painful whimper of leaving his mouth; maybe he just worried them — you don’t need to feel sorry.  

— Yeah, Brian, everyone makes mistakes. — Freddie spoke with his usual cheerful tone, and maybe something inside Brian’s heart broke because he failed his band. He couldn’t keep the tears away, and all of a sudden, he was crying his heart out, shaking badly and that weird feeling became numbness and shame. He was a failure.  

— Brian, why are you crying? — John asked so concerned, as if Brian was a toddler, that it made it worse because Brian felt like he was being childish. Roger just said that he messed up, he didn’t need to react that way. — Brian, talk to me... please... 

— I... — his chest felt too tight and his head was throbbing. Then a pair of arms enveloped his shaking body and he felt as if he was falling from the edge.  

— Darling, are you okay? — Freddie asked in a calm tone, trying to comfort him from whatever was hurting.  

— I just need time... — he tried to wipe his eyes, but the tears kept falling. Brian broke the hug and put his guitar in her case — sorry... — Brian started to walk to the door, he needed to get out. 

— Baby? Where are you going? — Roger left his drum kit and tried to follow his boyfriend, but John grabbed his arm.  

— Sorry... — Brian answered before he left.  

— Roger, what the fuck did you do to him? — John asked and went for his bass. Roger was left dazed by the assumption that he had anything to do with Brian’s outburst.  

— Why the fuck do you think it’s my fault?  

— Well, Rog, he started to cry copiously when you said he messed up.  

— Because he  _did_ mess up! You heard it! I just said what you wanted to but had no courage. 

— Did you two fight or something? — Freddie asked with real concern.  

— No, we just... — Roger scratched his head — he was a bit... different those days, you know? Sometimes he feels really energetic, sometimes he is too tired, but apart from that everything is normal. I don’t know if he had a fight with someone or if... — he sighed and wished he had a beer — okay, okay, he’s not really talking to me. I don’t know why, but he just... — he waved his hand to explain what he was trying to say. 

— He what? — John asked.  

— Brian just... he’s not himself sometimes, and it’s only around me. — Tears started to appear and fall, because Roger’s heart was breaking and he dreaded the words that were going through his mind. — And I don’t know if I did something wrong.  

— Oh, Rog, then you’ll need to talk to him. — Freddie nudged his arm and smiled. — Brian loves you more than he says, and you know how dense he is. 

— Yeah, I guess you’re right. — Roger chuckled. — I’m going to see if he’s okay.  

Ω 

Brian wasn’t sure of how he got home. He couldn’t feel his legs, but the pain was still there. All he needed to do was sink in his bed and let the tears fall until the uneasiness stopped, but he was wrong, because all he could do when he lied down was cry and gasp for air because he felt like he was being asphyxiated and the uneasiness never left him. A heavy fog clouded his mind and he couldn’t think right, his body heavy against the mattress. It didn’t make sense; he shouldn’t feel that way — he didn’t  _deserve_  to feel that way. He tugged at his hair and started to pull his curls, trying to stop all of that. It hurt so much, and he was weak — it was almost unbearable. Brian felt the urge to scream, but he had no voice. He was nothing. 

His cell phone rang and he tried to ignore it, but it kept ringing and ringing and it made him furious. He just needed peace to cry out what was left of the man he was. He answered the phone and tried to sound normal.  

— Hello? — His voice was embargoed and his throat hurt from the effort. 

—  _Hi, babe, it’s me._  

 _—_ Rog...?  

—  _Yeah, who else would it be?_ — Roger asked with uncertainty in his voice. —  _Where are you at?_  

— Home.  

—  _Okay. I want to talk to you, so stay there until I arrive, okay?_  

— ‘kay... — he almost sobbed because Roger would only want to talk about one thing, and Brian wasn’t ready. He hung up without saying goodbye and started to cry once again. 

Roger would leave him. Roger saw what Brian was and he wouldn’t want to deal with him anymore. Brian became a shitty boyfriend when his mood started to fluctuate, he wasn’t caring or loving anymore, and he took a lot more than he gave. It wasn’t his fault, but Brian felt like it — Roger was always there, and he fucked up. Roger, his everything, was going to leave him, and then Brian would have no one to love, no one to comfort him. He would be alone, because he couldn’t control his emotions. He hid himself below his blankets and tried to sleep — maybe this time he wouldn’t wake up.  

Except he did. He was woken up by Roger, who shook his body lightly. He felt his heart beating fast and he just wanted to go back to only-god-knows-when when he wasn’t feeling like  _this_. Roger took the blankets off him and caressed his hair, and Brian got angry because he shouldn’t be this sweet if he was going to break his heart. Brian opened his eyes and tried to not get hurt by the light. 

— I brought the Old Lady with me, you forgot her on the studio. — Roger tried to chit-chat before moving on to the big question, but Brian was having none of this.  

— I’m sorry...  

— Why are you sorry, Bri? — Roger was worried, and this time he had all the reasons to be: Brian’s eyes were puffy and red, like he had been crying for ages, his hair was lifeless, his skin pale, and his voice... it was like he was going to break any second.  

— The song...  

— We’re not mad at you because you messed up, Bri. — He tried to smile, but it was hard: imagine seeing the love of your life looking like a fucking corpse. — I’m just worried about you, you never reacted like that before. — Brian nodded and covered himself again.  

— Sorry... 

— Brian, what is it that you’re not telling me? Are you— 

—  _I already said I'm fucking sorry, Roger..._  — he started to cry lightly and prayed to whatever deity that Roger wouldn’t notice, but as always, his begging was in vain. Roger didn’t want to worse Brian’s mood, so he just lied down beside his boyfriend and hugged him, trying not to cry himself, he was supposed to look after Brian, to know what was wrong and what was right, and now he had his arms full of a crying Brian, who was trying his best not to hug Roger back. —  _I love you_. — He knew he wasn’t being convincing, but he was being true.  

— I love you too. — It hurt Brian because he knew it was a lie, but he thought it wouldn’t be bad to believe this lie one last time.  

Ω 

The following weeks were a nightmare for Brian and Roger, because every morning Brian was stressed and panicked, everything and everyone made him scream and apologize right afterwards, sometimes even cry. John, Freddie and Roger had no idea of what was happening, and Brian wouldn’t answer if he was asked to, he was only focused on playing his guitar with perfection to the point his fingers started to bleed and he needed to take a break — which only worsened his state of mind, because he was left at home, alone with the tiny harmful voices in his mind.  

And every night he’d just cry until tiredness came to take him to a dreamless and restless sleep. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe properly, he could only feel the heavy blankets and Roger’s weight on the other side of the mattress — he was bittersweet about it, because he was glad Roger was at his side, but he knew it wouldn’t last because Roger grew tired of him, and all he wanted was to cuddle with Roger until the numbness left his soul. Roger, however, wasn’t aware of Brian’s intentions.  

 

— Roger, what are you doing here? — Freddie, dressed with a robe only, asked before he yawned and let his friend in, getting confused because Roger was carrying two suitcases.  

— I’ve had enough, Fred, I need somewhere to stay. — He sat on the couch and tried not to break down while resting his elbows on the bigger suitcase.   

— What happened? — Freddie sat beside Roger and closed his eyes, swearing he wouldn’t sleep. — You’ve had enough of what? 

— Of Brian.  — That answer made Freddie crack one eye open and stare at Roger with disbelief. — I know! I was surprised too!  

— What did he do?  

— It’s what he didn’t do! Freddie, I always saw it coming, he was going to break up with me because of something, but instead he just never said anything and he keeps pretending he loves me! I’m not fucking stupid, Fred. — He was crying bitter tears; his angriness could be touched.  

— Why do you say he wants to break up with you? That’s bullocks, Rog.  

— Freddie, open up your eyes! C’mon, it’s not that hard! He doesn’t speak to me  _at all,_ he doesn’t say he loves me anymore, when I called him three weeks ago and said “hey, it’s me” he asked “Rog...?” with that fucking dumb tone, he clearly is in love with someone else but he is a coward and won’t break up with me! — He was screaming, and fuck it if it was 2 a.m., fuck if people were trying to sleep, Roger was heartbroken and he needed to let it out.  

— And do you want him to break up with you? 

—  _Of course_ _I don’t!_ Freddie, I love him more than anything, I was planning on fucking  _propose_ to him!  

— You what?! — Freddie was fully awake now, and more curious than ever. — When were you going to tell us? Roger, that’s a huge step, you know that, right?  

— I know, Freddie. We’ve been together for six years, I thought it was time, y’know? We would be happy together, I even... — he took a small box out of his pocket and gave it to Freddie. He gasped when he saw a white gold ring with a ruby — I spent my whole money on this  _thing_. I had the speech ready. I was going to tell you when he said “yes”, when we were  _engaged_. But he doesn’t love me anymore... — his voice was now low; the rage was gone and only sadness was there. His tears fell silently, and Freddie could only hug him. There wasn’t any word to comfort Roger. — Tomorrow I’ll go back to  _his house_ — it wasn’t  _theirs_ anymore — to say goodbye. And... you’ll have to look for another drummer.  

— Roger...?  

— I can’t, Freddie... I can’t... it  _hurts_ so  _bad_. I  _love_ him and... there’s no way I can face him after this. — Roger laid on the sofa and let the tears fall until he fell asleep. Freddie texted  John and hoped he would be awake to check on Brian; the Brian that Roger described was in no way the Brian that Freddie knew.  

Ω 

Brian woke up at 5 a.m., and he was surprised — to say the least. He felt cold, even though he was protected by his duvet, and then he realized that Roger wasn’t there. He got out of bed, turned on the lights and opened the wardrobe. He felt anger and panic rise up when he saw that only his clothes were there. Roger’s things were gone. His breathing became erratic, and he started to call his boyfriend’s name.  

 _You shouldn’t be surprised_ , said one of the voices,  _it was obvious he was going to dump you_. And although he was waiting the hammer to fall, he wasn’t expecting it to be that soon. Roger was the only constant in his life lately, and now he was gone. He started to cry, because he started to cry a lot those days, and left his bedroom. Roger couldn’t be gone; he couldn’t just leave without any warning. He tripped on his way to the bathroom, almost falling to the floor, and he got scared of his own reflection — his hair was a mess, as if he hadn’t fixed it in weeks (which was kind of true), his eyes were foggy, he was slowly growing a beard because he didn’t have the will to shave, his lips were cracked and his skin was too pale. He looked like death.  

 _That’s why he left you. You’re a shame._  

He tried to clean himself, shower and shave, but he only managed to brush his teeth before dread and anxiety took him completely. He needed to find Roger. He was there.  _He was_. Brian went back to his bedroom and started to search on the wardrobe, Roger must have hidden there, — like when he did when he  wanted  I’m In Love With My Car as Bohemian Rhapsody’s B-side — so Brian took all the clothes from the wardrobe to find him, but Roger wasn’t there. He then moved to the bed, trying to find a note, a ticket, a sign...  _anything_ that could tell him where Roger was. He threw the sheets, the duvet and the pillows on the floor, but he found nothing. Then he started to look on the  dresser drawers — where they kept their notebooks and other stuff — and  _oh._  It all made sense now. He found the bottle of the pills he was supposed to be taking. The pills his therapist said he needed to treat his depression and anxiety. The pills none of his friends knew he was taking because he didn’t want anyone to find out. The pills he stopped taking because he thought he was okay. Well, fuck it, he wasn’t okay — far from it, actually. He put the bottle on the drawer and went back to the bathroom.  

He opened the cabinets still trying to find a note. He searched on the bathtub, on the walls, but nothing... then he went to the living room, hoping to see his boyfriend — was it ex-boyfriend now? — asleep on the couch, and he was going to explain why he didn’t sleep on their bed — “ _oh,_ _Bri_ _, I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you up, luv”_ , but the one he was probably going to receive was “ _I want to leave you”_. Brian tried to stay calm, but it was hard because he was crying, his head ache and his body was trembling. He started to look inside the books on the shelves, on the cushions, behind the sofa, below the rug, literally anywhere someone could hide anything, but he found nothing.  

He moved to the kitchen — it was the last room and Roger needed to be there, but once again Brian was met with disappointment. He opened the fridge, the oven, the microwave, the freezer, he emptied the drawers and the cabinets, but again: nothing. Roger was gone, and he didn’t even tell him.  

That tiny voice came back, telling Brian it was all his fault — if he had been a better boyfriend, if he had been a better friend, if he had been a better person, if he had been better in general. The rational part of the voices said he needed to return to therapy as soon as possible because it was unbearable. Brian fell to the ground and started to cry, defeated, feeling anxiety consume him — his heart was beating fast, his thoughts were going too fast and he couldn’t breathe. Fuck. What was he going to do? It was a full anxiety attack and he was alone. Maybe he could fetch himself a drink or two, but alcohol would just become an addiction and he had no emotional structure to deal with this destructive behaviour — he had done enough harm before starting to treat himself, he couldn’t fall again. He was already in the bottom of the abyss, and he was afraid he would be found like  _that_ — drunk, soaked in blood and panicking.  _No_ , that time was long gone now, wasn’t it?  

 _It isn’t_ , the voice told him, and he was really afraid of himself, because he got up and looked for a bottle of vodka. He didn’t want it — he  _truly_ didn’t want it — but it was stronger than him. He found the bottle — unlucky of him for not having broken it during his rampage — and opened it, drinking fast enough to almost choke. The liquid burned his throat but it brought a good kind of numbness — not the one that he felt for so long, no, it was a numbness that made him forget his troubles — but for just one minute. So, he drank more. And more. Until he finished the bottle and was thrown in the floor, drunk, sweaty and crying because Roger left. He had finally left him. Someone knocked on his door and he whimpered. Who wanted to talk to him this early? Maybe it was Roger.  

— Rog...? — He managed in a quiet voice, then realized he wouldn’t be heard. — Roger?! — He all but screamed. — Rogeeeer....?! Roggiieee! — He laughed a sad laugh, because Roger wouldn’t knock to enter in  _their_ house, so he tried his best to get up and answer the door. He was taken aback when a worried John appeared. — Not... Roggie... — he was going to close the door bur John stopped him and entered.  

— Brian, why are you drunk at 6 a.m.? And what the fuck happened here? — John wanted to clean the mess, but he was way more concerned about his friend, who looked like hell. The beard, his red eyes, his cracked skin... something was really wrong.  

— Roggie left. — He lied down on the sofa and hugged a cushion. — Tried... find ‘im... ‘s’gone... — he sobbed loud and cried a little more.  

— I know he left; I want to know what happened to you. — Brian laughed, bitter now, because he was going to tell and then John would also leave him. 

— I for’ot the... — he let a hiccup out — pills... — he closed his eyes, trying to find that restless drunken sleep, but John’s voice brought him back.  

— What pills, Bri?  

— For... depression... — he fell on the floor with a loud thud and John rushed to help him — stopped... stopped — the room was spinning fast, and he wasn’t feeling that good anymore — therapy, thot was... ‘kay... wasn’t. 

Now, Brian was talking with sluggishness, but John understood him. And now he was shocked to find out that Brian had depression — it wasn’t that big of a surprise once you read the lyrics Brian wrote, or if you payed attention to him, but John was surprised to find out that way, without a sincere  _sober_ conversation. The information was thrown at his face and now he had to deal with it because Freddie was occupied with a heartbroken Roger. And,  _shit!_  Now John understood why Brian cried that day at the studio, and why they grew apart.  

— Brian, why didn’t you tell us? Why did you stop? — John ran his fingers through his tangled and dirty hair. Did he bathe in the past few days?  

— Thot was ‘mkay... — he cried out — had y’u... had Roggie... didn’ want y’u to... hate me... — the fingers lightly caressing his head were too comfortable, and he was slowly drifting away — want Roggie, pleathe... — he fell asleep on the cold hard floor, and now John was left without solutions.  

Ω 

Brian woke up feeling worse than he ever had, and when he felt the taste in his mouth he understood why — he had drunk.  _Shit. Shit. Shit._ And why was he on his bed? The last thing he remembered was that he was on the kitchen floor, and...  _oh_ , someone was on his bed with him. And now, for the first time, he hoped it wasn’t Roger.  

— You’re awake. Good. — John’s voice. — I don’t want to put you down, more than you already are, but I cleaned your mess. Well, Freddie helped a little. Freddie is preparing a bath for you; you know he has those amazing soaps. Come on, get out of the bed.  

— What happened? John, where’s... what are you doing here?  

— I’ll answer after you clean yourself, Bri. Chop, chop, let’s take a bath.  

Brian didn’t have the strength to get up, but somehow John lifted him up and carried him to his bathroom — that was surprisingly tidy. Freddie was there with a blank face, shampoo and hair conditioner on his hands. Brian had no choice, did he? He didn’t try to justify himself; he knew he was wrong, and now his head was going to kill him. He brushed his teeth in order to get rid of the taste of alcohol; he took off his clothes and entered in the bathtub, feeling the hot water against his dirty skin — it felt good, he needed to shower. Freddie started to clean his hair and John helped him clean his body — and he would feel ashamed if he wasn’t so  _exhausted_. After that, Freddie helped him shave, making sure he wasn’t going to kill himself. He got dressed alone, and somehow that was a big step.  

John called him from the kitchen, where he and Freddie were sitting and drinking tea. A teacup was set for him. Brian felt anxious, but he couldn’t go back to his room, could he? So, he just sat with them and waited for the questions — that came really fast. 

— When did it start? — Freddie was looking at him sympathetically, and maybe that was what Brian feared the most: pity. But truth be told, Freddie was just concerned, and pity wasn’t that evident.  

— When I was 14. But it got worse when I went to college. I was 19. — The tea was calming him, thank god, or else he would be stuttering.  

— And when did you seek help?  

— As soon as my parents realized something was wrong, still 14. I stopped last semester, before you ask, because I thought I was... fine.  

— And why didn’t you tell us? — John took his hand and Brian let him do it, because he missed the feeling of someone else’s touch.  

— I was ashamed, I thought you wouldn’t want me and would be... afraid of me... think I was crazy. And I didn’t want Roger to leave me. So, I was seeing a therapist in secret, pretending I was visiting my parents, and I was taking my pills. I felt so normal, and it was so good, that I thought, “hey, maybe it stopped”. It didn’t, and now I’m... I’m lost... — Brian didn’t have any tears left to cry, so he just stayed there looking at nothing, trying to make them understand. Freddie wanted to tell Brian that they loved him no matter what, and that they would never be scared of him, but he knew better than this. Brian wouldn’t believe. 

— How did you cope, before the pills, when it was worse? There’s something we need to get rid of? 

— Booze. I used to get shit faced, it was good in the beginning, but then it all started to feel... worst. I got angry so fast, and one day I... I was out with Tim, we were drinking and this bloke said something, I don’t remember what, and I punched him. He punched me back, and he didn’t stop... I was left on the floor, drunk, bleeding and I started to panic. I thought I was going to die. Tim got me home and asked me what was wrong. Turns out you can’t mix antidepressants with booze.  

— I found a bottle on your dresser, should I— 

— They’re old. Need to see my therapist first. — He finished his tea, that was cold, and waited for one of them to blame him; but it never came. They understood him.  

— Okay, so we’re gonna call him today. Right now. — John took his phone and passed it to Brian, expecting he would know the number.  

— I don’t remember, have to look on my phone book. — Freddie and John nodded. 

— Anything else that you need? — Freddie asked with a smile.  

— Roger.  

— I don’t think you're in a position to meet him, darling. — Brian lowered his head and nodded. Freddie was right. 

Ω 

It had been a month and Brian was feeling slightly better — he was eating and bathing, and that was a victory. The band wasn’t rehearsing, and maybe Brian felt guilty for it, but his therapist said that he didn’t need to feel that way and Brian believed him. In this month he had no news of Roger, so he could be dating someone else or he could have moved to Scotland, and that made Brian’s chest hurt. They were supposed to be together.  

Freddie said that everything was going to be okay, and for the first time in one month he was going to see Roger. The love of his life. He tidied the house a couple of times — definitely more than necessary — and wore his best clothes (anything clean was considered “best clothes”). He opened the door as fast as he could when he heard the knocking, and he felt his heart  _ache_  when he saw Roger. He was just as beautiful as the last time, and Brian probably looked like a not-so-dead corpse. He didn’t know how to start the conversation, but gladly Freddie and John agreed to mediate their reconciliation.  

— Shall we enter? — John nudged Brian’s arm and he let them in, indicating them to sit on the couch. — Who wants to begin? — He asked when the silence was still too uncomfortable to one of them to say something. He really hoped Brian would go first, because no one dared to tell Roger the truth. It was Brian’s life and his decision. 

— I’ll go. — Roger said. — I just want to know one thing: why would you break my heart? That's all. All I ever did was love you, and why did you hurt me like that? — He kept the tears at bay, trying to be strong. — Why couldn’t you just break up with me? — Now Brian was confused.  

— I was the one who thought you were going to break up, — Roger’s eyes widened in disbelief — that day when... when you called me, you said you wanted to talk, I thought you were going to leave me. But I don’t blame you, because I would leave me if I were in your shoes. I... I didn’t tell you the truth, Roger.  

— What did you lie about, then? —  _Please, don’t be cheating. Please, don’t be cheating._   

— I’ve been dealing with depression and anxiety since I’m 14. — Roger’s heart stopped for a second. — And last semester I thought I was fine and stopped seeing a therapist and taking my pills, things that I was doing behind your back... it was a secret that I kept hidden from the three of you... and when I stopped it all just came down, and it made me so... unstable. I couldn’t function properly, and it dragged me down. That’s why I... that’s why I was so... not myself. I didn’t tell you before because I was scared you’d leave me, but you did anyway...  

— Brian... — he finally let his tears fall — honey, I had no idea it was that bad. — He hugged Brian, it was almost a bear hug, and it felt so good; he couldn’t remember the last time he felt Brian’s arms around him, and he had missed him every day, every minute. All he wanted was his boyfriend back. — I was so scared you were going to break up that I didn’t even think about talking to you, I’m so sorry.  

— Well, I did the same. — He ran his fingers through the blond hair. — I promise you I’ll tell you everything, no more secrets.  

— And I promise I’ll talk to you whenever I’m insecure about something. Babe, tell me, are you okay now? — Brian took his time to smell his scent, he missed his perfume and the smell of his shampoo. He felt so lonely without Roger that having him in his arms felt surreal.  

— I’m going through, I’m taking my pills and I’ll get better eventually. Just... forgive me. — Brian let a few lonely tears fall, and he didn’t try to make Roger stay when he shifted to sit on the couch. If he wanted to leave, then Brian would have to accept that.  

— Then we’ll get through this together. — Roger’s eyes lit up when he saw the smile on Brian’s face, and if he was better, he would take the velvet box out of his pocket and propose. But that could wait.  

— Well, we’re both feeling like the third wheel so we’re gonna go, have fun. — Freddie said as he and John stood up to leave. Brian chuckled a little, and Roger was glad he didn’t say anything else (Freddie couldn’t keep a secret for his life, and Brian couldn’t know about the ring).  

— Bye, Fred, John. Thank you for the help. — Brian hugged his friends and led him to the door.  

— You’re welcome, Bri, you just need to call us if you need.  

— Exactly, call us. — Freddie’s voice was firm but gentle, and Brian was glad his friends accepted him.  

— I will. Thank you. — He closed the door and went back to Roger, who was smiling at him. God, how he missed that smile. — I love you. I really do.  

— I love you too. Come here, I need to hold you. — Brian smiled and lied down on the couch, putting his head on Roger’s lap. He soon started to caress his hair, and everything felt a little more at peace. — There’s something I need to take care of? Something that... triggers you? — Brian felt his heart swell with a lot of feelings because, even though Roger was just being a good boyfriend, Brian was glad someone was looking after him. 

— Make sure there’s never booze within my reach, that’s all for now. I think... I think I can manage to remember my appointments with my therapist and to take my medication.  — Brian closed his eyes slowly.  

— Okay, babe, I’ll make sure of it. — They fell on a comfortable silence after that, until Roger spoke again. — I missed you. And I’m sorry for not seeing how bad you were... I just... I’m glad to be back home.  

— I’m glad you’re back. — He sat up and kissed his  _boyfriend_. He had missed those lips so much, it felt like heaven. — Don’t ever leave me again, please... — he said in a barely perceptible whisper.  

— I won’t, I promise you. — Roger kissed him again and put their foreheads together, trying to make up for the last two months. It wasn’t perfect, far from that, actually, and it wasn’t the reunion they were imagining, less tears and screams, less anger; but it was what they needed: a soft hug and one or two simple kisses, just to remember how it was and how it would be. They just needed to heal.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways, I hope you liked it!  
> I'm a slut for Hurt!Brian, I'm not even sorry.  
> You can leave kudos and comments if you want, I want to know your opinion.  
> Oh. and you can find me on:  
> tumblr - @your-wannabe-queen  
> wattpad - @Queenie_Sorcha  
> twitter - @wannabesorcja


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